


the golden rule

by envysparkler



Series: Pavor [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Robin finds the Red Hood bleeding out in an alley.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Pavor [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932523
Comments: 131
Kudos: 1095
Collections: Jason and Tim Enemy-to-Caretaker





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> me, whenever I'm stuck on the plot: let me just throw some fear toxin in there.

Tim was not _looking_ for trouble.

Sure, Batman had given him strict instructions to not go out on patrol, and sure, he was taking a joyride in the Batmobile, and sure, he’d ditched the car to stop a couple of muggings in the Bowery, far too close to Red Hood territory to be safe, but he wasn’t doing this out of some petulant sense of teenage rebellion.

No, he was doing this because B was too smothering, and the Red Hood was a murderous asshole, and Tim had been out on the streets of Gotham since he was _nine_. He didn’t need a minder, and he wasn’t going to stop being Robin just because Batman was off-world for a couple of days.

Besides, it wasn’t as though there was an Arkham breakout or anything. It was a quiet night – Nightwing was back in Bludhaven, Alfred had accompanied Brucie Wayne on his supposed trip to London, and Tim had spun idly in the Batcomputer chair for all of twenty minutes before he got bored.

He was fine, the city was fine, and he’d get back in the car and drive around another couple of streets before calling it a night. Sightings of the Batmobile usually helped to lessen petty crime, and they were commonplace enough that neither Bruce nor Dick would be alerted. Tim swung to the last roof and dropped down to the ground. The Batmobile was right around the corner.

The huge tank of a car sat incongruously on the empty street, matte black blending into the darkness, and Tim stole quickly back to it, footsteps silent and –

Red gleamed in the shadows.

Tim froze.

His staff snapped out before he took a single step, darting to the side to use the brick walls as cover as he advanced on the strange spark of color, the only thing he knew was _that_ shade of metallic red was –

Hood’s helmet.

Tim stilled, holding his breath, as his eyes adjusted to see the figure sprawled out in the alley, red helmet glinting in the orange glare of light pollution. He quickly fumbled for his grapple gun – hopefully Hood hadn’t spotted him yet, he’d retreat back to the rooftops and remote-pilot the Batmobile to a different part of the city. As long as there wasn’t an altercation, Tim would be fine and Batman would never know.

Hood…wasn’t moving.

Tim paused, finger on the trigger of the grapple gun, and took a closer look. Hood was slumped face down on the ground, one arm awkwardly twisted beneath him, the other stretched out in the direction of the Batmobile. The glove shone with a dark wetness and Tim sucked in a harsh breath.

This was a trap. A trick. Some stupid plan of Hood’s playing on their savior complexes. It was a _lie_.

Tim counted to ten, imagined the glower Batman would give him for being reckless, visualized Dick’s disappointed face, and exhaled in a rush. He took his hand off the grapple gun, and inched closer.

“Hood?”

Hood made no sign that he knew Tim was there, and Tim eventually reached close enough to nudge the older boy with his staff. Out of reach of a punch, but definitely within gunshot range.

Hood didn’t even _twitch_.

Fear churned slowly to alarm as Tim poked harder, still getting no response. He hesitated for a moment, remembering vivid green eyes narrowed into a poisonous snarl as a knife slashed across his throat, before crouching to examine the other vigilante.

“Hood, can you hear me?”

Tim couldn’t see any evidence of injuries on Hood’s back, and barely paused for a second before he reached out to flip the older boy over. Hood didn’t make a single sound, his arm flopping limply and Tim stepped back with a sharp curse. Even in the dim light, the front of Hood’s armor gleamed a sickly, oozing red.

Tim could trace the bleeding to two wounds above Hood’s right knee, where the armor had to split to the knee pads. He quickly applied a field dressing, covering both wounds in gauze, checking for exit wounds, and wrapping them tightly. Hood shifted slightly but his hand made no movement towards his guns.

The reasonable, logical thing to do was to drop Hood off at Leslie’s clinic. The less reasonable option was to leave Hood where he was, because _he_ certainly hadn’t waited to make sure Tim was okay after stalking away from his beaten, bloody body.

And yet here Tim was, dragging two hundred pounds of murderous asshole towards the Batmobile.

“I don’t know how your grapple holds your weight,” Tim grunted, “You’re heavier than _Batman_ with all your armor on.”

This was the _stupidest idea ever_ and Tim was going to have to face Dick’s disapproving face after he got actually murdered this time. But Tim couldn’t forget that Hood had one arm stretched out to the Batmobile.

It took some maneuvering to get Hood in the backseat of the car, but he finally managed to force all limbs inside and close the door. With nearly everyone out of town, the comm was mercifully quiet, though he could feel Oracle’s heavy judgement in the stilted silence.

Thankfully, she didn’t say a word as they got back to the Cave. The only sign she was even still there was the quiet _click_ of Hood’s helmet disarming after Tim got the older boy on a cot in the medbay.

He took a step back, and tried not to think about what he was doing.

In the bright lights of the medbay, blood glistened on dark armor, having already soaked through the field dressings. Tim cut through the armor to reach the wounds underneath and snapped on medical gloves before hunting for the bullets. There was a low, indistinct sound, distorted by the helmet, but Tim didn’t pause, yanking out the first bullet, and then the second with little fanfare.

Next stitches. Then Tim could have his minor breakdown about helping the guy that had nearly murdered him once.

He was preparing the needle and thread when a vice grip tightened around his wrist, squeezing until his bones scraped against each other.

“ _Shit_.” Tim dropped the needle and thread and immediately went for his failsafe – Hood was levering off the bed, other hand searching for his gun with the start of an angry growl – Tim stabbed the syringe into skin and pressed down.

Hood made an incoherent sound, his grip tightening almost hard enough to break something, before it loosened. The man slowly slumped back against the bed, going quietly limp.

Tim exhaled slowly, and tried to stop his heart from hammering. He should’ve tranqed Hood before he’d even gotten him into the car.

“And the award for ‘most poorly thought out idea’ goes to,” Tim muttered under his breath.

He had to wait a full minute before his fingers stopped shaking enough to let him stitch Hood’s wounds closed.

* * *

Tim flipped through evidence on one of their latest money laundering cases, looking for a connection that would tie it to the increase in drugs in the Bowery. They hadn’t found much to go on, probably because the drugs were coming from Crime Alley and the Red Hood had pretty clearly staked that out as his territory.

Tim darted another quick, nervous glance at the figure lying still on the medbay cot. Out of the helmet and armor and guns, peacefully asleep, Jason didn’t look as terrifying as he’d been when he was literally beating Tim into the ground.

Aside from the two bullet wounds, Tim had found one broken finger and a deep pattern of bruising over cracked and broken ribs. He’d wrapped the ribs and splinted the finger. The antibiotics for the bullet wounds were being fed through the IV and as soon as the bag was over, he’d dump Hood back in Crime Alley.

He kept another tranq by his side, just in case, though the dose he’d given Hood should be enough to keep the man down for another hour.

Tim turned back to the case, opening a new possible branch of investigation, and nearly jumped out of his chair at the scream. Jason was weakly stirring, and Tim abandoned the Batcomputer.

He’d carefully calculated the dose, using Jason’s prior noted tolerance and increasing for gained body mass. The Pit shouldn’t have had any effect on their new sedative, and a rise in tolerance due to training might’ve skewed the time ten minutes either way, but an _hour_ early?

Tim fumbled with the syringe – Jason still seemed out of it, he could –

Fingers snapped around his wrist, squeezing hard enough to force him to drop the needle. Tim gasped – Jason’s eyes were a luminous green, his face etched into a snarl, and now _he_ had the needle and Tim yanked his hand out of Jason’s grasp, a jolt shooting through his arm at the hasty action.

It was very nearly too late – Jason had already stabbed the needle into Tim’s arm, but he managed to rip it out before Jason could depress the plunger all the way. Tim stumbled back a step, and then another as Jason rose from the cot, looking nothing short of absolutely furious.

On Tim’s next step, the world wobbled. Whatever little sedative had actually managed to make it into his bloodstream was enough to throw off his balance, and with it, any chance he had of making it out alive against an enraged, murder-happy vigilante.

Perhaps if Bruce had been here. Perhaps if Dick had been here. Perhaps if Alfred had been here. Perhaps if Tim hadn’t been _stupid_ enough to try and save the man that had made it _extremely_ clear that he wanted Tim’s head on a pike.

Tim tried to run, but the world swerved again, and he landed painfully on the ground, his knee scraping against the rough stone – a minor burn that instantly became irrelevant as a heavy weight slammed into him.

“Jason,” Tim wheezed, unsure if begging would make his chances better or worse, “Jason, you were hurt, you’re in the Cave, you’re safe –”

Steel bands wrapped around his ribs and constricted hard enough that Tim lost his breath.

“Jason,” Tim spluttered, clawing at Jason’s arms to find enough give to let his lungs expand, black spots dancing across his vision and harsh breathing filling his ears, choked-off inhales like suppressed screams –

Wait a minute. Those weren’t _his_.

The sedative should’ve kept Jason down for another hour. Unless it interacted badly with chemicals _already_ in his system. Like, for example, fear toxin.

“Jason?” Tim hissed, “Jason, can you hear me?” He stopped pushing against Jason’s arms and let himself go limp, forcing his muscles to relax.

Jason adjusted his grip immediately, loosening over his diaphragm but still caging Tim in, arms forced flat against his body, his head shoved under Jason’s chin and close enough to Jason’s chest to hear the pounding, too-fast beat thundering against his skin.

“Jason,” Tim murmured, “It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, _it’s not real_.”

Jason took another one of his shuddering breaths, his nose jammed into Tim’s hair, and – and he was _shaking_ , shivering violently.

Tim hadn’t _forgotten_ that Jason had once been Robin, had once been the boy that Tim had looked up to, had tried to emulate, had practically worshipped until he clawed himself out of the ground and slashed Tim’s throat with green eyes like poisoned fire. He had just chosen to ignore that particular aspect of Jason’s past for his own mental sanity.

“No,” Jason mumbled, so quiet that Tim almost wondered if he imagined it, “No, please, no more.”

“Jason,” Tim got out, squirming, “Jason, I can’t _breathe_.”

Jason made no sign that he heard him. That he even knew that Tim was there. That he was tracking anything aside from the movement that his training instinctively categorized as a threat.

“B,” Jason exhaled, and Tim went still, “B, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t listen –”

Oh. Oh _no_.

“ _Please_ ,” Jason begged and Tim didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to listen to his once-hero break apart as he remembered his own death, and very much didn’t want to be here once the fear toxin wore off.

“It won’t open,” Jason whispered, “It won’t open, there’s a bomb, Bruce, I’m sorry, _Dad please_ –”

The corner of his eyes were prickling, and he tried to tell himself it was because of the strangling pressure on his ribs, the desperate breaths he was sucking in, the very real terror of being trapped in Jason’s grasp.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as Jason kept sobbing, clutching Tim like a lifeline, grip always on the side of painful, but stopping short of breaking ribs.

He remembered the arm stretched out to the Batmobile like it was reaching for the only safe thing left, and it just –

It wasn’t _fair_.

Tim listened to Jason’s too-fast heartbeat and waited for it to calm down.

* * *

The first clear thought that came back to him, the first thought that wasn’t Joker-purple or Lazarus-green or bloody, weeping crimson, was _I fucking hate fear toxin_.

The second was a vicious mental diatribe at the thugs that had caught him off guard and managed to hit him with bullets laced with what was either a lost crate of fear toxin or a well-made knockoff, given that Crane was still in Arkham the last time Jason had checked.

The third thought, after he felt searing flames and instinctively twisted to cover the body underneath him, too spindly to be the woman who’d given birth to him, was mainly just an impression of black hair and blue eyes and a faint, growing sense of incredulity.

_He didn’t_.

Black hair drifted past his eyes. Long fingers were curled loosely around one of his arms, tapping out an absent pattern that Jason thought might be binary. He was clearly listening to Jason’s heartbeat, because the fingers stilled after one of Jason’s shuddering inhales. “Jason?” the Replacement asked slowly.

“Shut up,” Jason immediately snapped. He had no idea how he got here – was he in the _Cave_? – and almost everything between getting shot and waking up screaming was a blur.

He knew that he still hated stupid, pretentious Timothy Drake, and if he could shift his grip to squeeze around his throat and finally break that scrawny neck –

He couldn’t let go. He _couldn’t_. Tim’s heartbeat thrumming against his arms was steady proof that Jason wasn’t in the warehouse, wasn’t burning alive, wasn’t stuck with a madman – but it was even worse this time because he _knew_ no one was coming and he knew it would never end.

No matter how hard he begged.

One part of his mind pointed out that he was having a breakdown in front of the goddamn Replacement, and basically handing out fodder to be used against him, but it was shouted down by the rest of his mind which had apparently decided that if he squeezed his eyes shut, he could ignore the world around him.

“Jason?” Tim asked after a long, stretching moment, his voice drowning out the sounds of maniacal laughter, “Are you…okay?”

Jason couldn’t quite suppress the harsh, unamused bark of laughter, “Really, Replacement?”

Tim fell silent again, and the steady heartbeat began ticking up into the realm of distress. Jason took a deep breath before finally relinquishing his grip, sending the kid sprawling to the ground as he straightened.

The sight of the Cave didn’t help his mood – everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of Batman’s standards, of Robin falling short over and over and over again, every corner a different memory of how he failed to measure up.

“I can’t be here,” Jason said, backing away as Tim got off the floor. He caught sight of a glass case on the far side of the Cave, a tattered uniform displayed on a mannequin –

Crowbar smashing into his ribs, fire searing into his bones, coughing and choking and unable to draw in a complete breath –

Jason fled for the stairs to the Manor.

He could do the math – there was no one else in the Cave but the Replacement, which wouldn’t have happened if anyone else was still in Gotham. The Manor would be empty and –

And even fresh from the Lazarus Pit, the Manor had always been home.

Tim found him curled up on an armchair in the den, staring blankly as the television blared infomercials. The kid blinked at him, and then frowned at TV, “Seriously?”

Jason chucked the remote at his head, and was only slightly disappointed when the kid caught it before it hit his face. “Nothing with a laugh track,” Jason said hoarsely.

To the Replacement’s credit, he shut up and took a seat on the furthest end of the couch, flipping through the channels before settling on some telenovela.

Jason let out a shuddering breath and dropped his head onto his raised knees, letting the cadence wash over him and dissolve the taste of iron on his tongue and the smell of smoke in the air.

“When’s B getting back?” Jason asked quietly.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Another part of his tension eased. He was still missing one part of the puzzle, though.

“How the hell did I get here?”

“I found you bleeding in an alley,” Tim responded, staring fixedly at the TV.

Jason stared at him. And what, after everything Jason had done to him, Tim had _saved_ him?

“Why?” Jason asked blankly. Jason would’ve run in the other direction if he saw Batman or his new Robin in trouble, or maybe used a couple of bullets to finish them off.

Tim shrugged, his shoulders hunching inwards, clearly curling defensively away from Jason, though he made no move to leave the room. “Why not?” the kid asked quietly, finally turning to look at Jason.

Jason found himself pinned by a surprisingly resolute gaze, unable to answer. He swallowed and turned back to the TV, letting the mindless drama block out the haze.

_Why not indeed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the Red Hood returns the favor.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a quiet night, no major threat of Rogues and no big deals going down. Though, to be fair, there had been a long string of quiet nights after Jason had gotten shot. After the week it took him to get back on his feet, he’d avoided Batman’s patrols. Avoided Robin, something twisting in his stomach at the thought of attacking the kid that he last remembered curled up on the couch, legs dangling off the arm and face buried in the cushions.

It had struck something he’d long tried to suppress and deny. The Manor was _home_. Bruce – he had a lot of complicated feelings about Bruce, and he hated Batman, and everything about Dick was fake, but –

But the Manor was still home.

So if the Red Hood took on more of an ominously-lurking-gargoyle role and less the delivering-headshots one, so be it. Kneecaps were just as effective to make a point.

Something weaved in the alley below him, stumbling and catching themselves against the brick wall before pushing upright again. Too short to be an adult limping home from a day at the bar.

Jason set his teeth in a snarl and grappled down. He thought he’d made it perfectly clear that _no one_ sold to kids, and he was going to shatter the jaw of the imbecile who thought they were the exception and maybe stick their skull on a pike because –

The wavering figure was a kid. One dressed in an armored bodysuit with a domino mask covering their eyes.

“Hood,” Robin gasped, taking one shaky step before crumpling.

Jason was crouched at his side before his mind even finished puzzling through the implications. If Batman caught him here, kneeling over an exhausted and bloody Robin – Jason clocked a gunshot wound, a hole near the shoulder where the bulletproof weave gave way to the clasps for the cape – then Jason would definitely not be able to escape Arkham.

The sensible thing to do would be to haul the kid the four blocks to Leslie’s clinic and let her phone Batman. Or perhaps drag the kid to the East End and set off a ping, because if Batman found Robin in Crime Alley, then Jason would be his first suspect.

Jason gathered the kid up, careful as the kid shuddered and coughed, and aimed his grapple for the rooftop. His nearest safehouse was two streets over.

The kid was losing coherency fast, his grip weak and feeble where it was clutching Jason’s jacket, and he felt a pang at the pained whimper as he gently tugged the fingers off to get the kid through the window.

The bullet hole was bleeding sluggishly as Jason deposited Robin on the couch and went for his first aid kit. “Hood,” the kid hissed when he came back, making a pained grimace as he tried to lever up and aborted the movement halfway through.

“You’ve got a hole in your shoulder,” Jason said, putting a hand on his collarbone to keep him down, “Let me take a look at it.”

The kid made a few breathless gasps, trying to twist away, before he gave up and slumped against the cushions, white lenses fixed on him. Jason worked quickly and efficiently – he cut the suit away from the bullet hole and cleaned the wound and his tweezers before filling up a small syringe with a general painkiller.

Robin caught his hand before he could press the plunger into skin, grip trembling but tight. “It’s going to hurt a lot more if you don’t want the painkiller,” Jason said levelly.

Robin took a deep, shuddering breath before he let go. Jason depressed the plunger and waited ten seconds for the kid’s breathing to even out before he went searching for the bullet.

He was just repaying the favor. He’d kick the kid out as soon as he woke up, and then he’d be able to face Robin without his conscience nagging at him.

He tugged a blanket over the kid when he finished wrapping the wound, and removed the domino mask before it left an itchy red mark.

* * *

Jason hadn’t done the calculations on how long the painkiller would last, but judging by the kid’s general state of exhaustion, he’d expected it to last longer than _this_. He headed back to the couch at the sound of stirring, absently rubbing at his eyes – Tim got two choices, either stay on the couch till morning or find his own way back home, because Jason was not getting on his bike right now.

“Hey, Replacement –” was as far as he got before blue eyes snapped open and narrowed on him with an emotion he didn’t quite recognize. Tim twisted off of the couch, leaping upright and snapping out his staff.

Fear. The emotion bleeding off the kid was straight-out _terror_ and Jason stilled, slowly raising his hands. He thought they were past this.

“It’s just me,” Jason said softly, and Tim did a full-body flinch at the sound of his voice.

“Stay away from me,” the kid said shakily, and Jason raised his hands even higher.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason said slowly, “I brought you here to patch you up. You had a gunshot wound in your shoulder –”

Come to think of it, he’d never tracked down those thugs that had shot him, or the missing fear toxin they’d laced their bullets with.

“Tim,” Jason said, keeping his voice level, “Tim, can you hear me?”

“Stop it,” Tim said, swaying. His gaze was fixed on Jason’s face, but he wasn’t seeing _him_. “Stop it, stop it, _stop it_ –”

“I’m not doing anything,” Jason said, slow and calm, sticking to the wall, “It’s okay, baby bird, you’re safe, you’re –”

“Jason, _please_ –” Tim raised his staff higher, his expression breaking to something darker than disenchantment, “I don’t want to fight you.”

Jason almost stopped breathing.

Okay. This was not good. Jason didn’t know if the toxin nightmare was triggered by his presence or if his attack was genuinely one of the worst things in the kid’s life, but it was clear he’d do more harm than good here. If he got out and maybe called Nightwing to calm the kid down –

Tim made a dash for the window, and Jason was forced to block him. He wasn’t going to let a drugged Robin wander the streets of Gotham, no matter how badly his stomach churned at the terror in those wide blue eyes as Tim backed away from him.

“Please,” Tim whispered, “Please, you can have Robin, you can have everything, just don’t –”

Jason hadn’t cared what the kid had said back then, too drunk on fury and righteousness and revenge, the whispers from the Pit twisting everything he heard.

“Just _leave me alone_!” Tim darted for the door and Jason slid in his way, arms still raised.

“Tim, you’ve been drugged, you need to calm down –”

But Tim didn’t stop his advance, his staff lashing out in desperation, movements uncoordinated in exhaustion and fear – but uncoordinated on a Robin was still leagues above any standard Gotham thug, and Jason was standing in his apartment wearing no armor.

If he’d been aiming to kill the kid, it wouldn’t even be a contest.

If he’d been aiming to _hurt_ the kid, he’d still be able to do a lot of damage.

Unfortunately, Jason was not aiming to do either of those things, and it was pretty difficult to move defensively against a bo staff.

Jason caught a strike on his upper arm and hissed as it impacted an existing bruise. The strike wasn’t full-force, but full force would’ve broken his arm.

Jason twisted with the next strike, snapping out at the kid’s wrist and locking up the staff until Tim was forced to let go.

The staff spun into a corner with a clatter.

And then Jason got a punch to the face.

Green surged up, fierce and spitting and _angry_ – and Jason tried to suppress it, forcing it down and straining against the urge to _hit back_ – and the moment of distraction cost him.

Before Jason could fully track what was going on, the Replacement had locked him into a hold and pulled all the way through – there was a sickening pop, and his right shoulder was suddenly on fire.

Jason kicked out, curling away and choking down the scream. He straightened up shakily, leaning heavily on the door behind him as he met watery blue eyes.

“I can’t let you leave,” Jason said softly, doing his best to ignore the pulses of agony rippling down his arm.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Tim stuttered, his eyes narrowing, “But I will if I have to.”

Jason didn’t even have a moment to brace himself – he took a kick to the ribs and an elbow to the face, trying to block punches with one working arm and dodge the kicks as he stayed between Tim and the door.

The kid was desperate and panicked and frantic, and it _showed_ as he nearly head-butted Jason in an attempt to make a break for it, jamming a foot into Jason’s instep and lashing out with an elbow as Jason hissed and shifted his weight.

There were too many distractions – the heart-wrenching desperation on Tim’s face, the spitting fury urging him to attack, the pain throbbing through his arm – Jason missed the kid’s feint and was unable to dodge his sudden lunge.

Something _yanked_ on his injured arm and Jason couldn’t entirely bite back the scream, wrenching away and –

A weight slamming into his gut.

His head cracking against the door hard enough to send colored spots dancing in his vision.

Sinking woozily to the floor as he registered the sound of the door opening and frantic footsteps fleeing.

_Shit_. This was not good.

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath before levering upright – the room swayed around him and he stumbled into the side table before he managed to make it closer to the couch. He would never be able to catch Tim, not like this, not before the kid got hurt, and Jason only hesitated for a second before he grabbed the comm he’d taken out of Tim’s ear.

He tuned it to the correct channel, swallowed, and turned it on.

“This is Hood,” Jason said quietly, and the chatter in the comm broke off with alacrity, “Robin’s in Crime Alley and high on fear toxin.”

The first one to respond was the low growl, “ _Where?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Jason responded, pressing the bridge of his nose. His head was beginning to throb.

“ _Do you have eyes on him?_ ” Nightwing asked, clearly struggling to keep his voice level.

“No, I lost him.”

There was a pause while everyone clearly came to their own conclusions about that statement.

“ _Is his tracker on him?_ ” Batman cut back in.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Jason snarled, the green bleeding through, and he turned the comm off and sank back down on the couch, struggling to keep his temper.

He was hurt, he was exhausted, there was a sixteen-year-old running around the worst parts of one of the worst cities in the world, and he was so fucking pissed the room had actually begun to change colors.

_Deep breaths_ , he reminded himself. The Pit was not in control of him. His anger was not in control of him. He could squeeze a stress ball and imagine it was the Replacement’s neck, as long as he didn’t transfer it to the real deal.

Deep breaths, until the green receded, piece by piece, until the pain was no longer spiking at him as a warning he needed to heed, until the anger blended back down to low-level annoyance and all he was left with was a memory of Tim’s tear-streaked face and his desperate pleading.

The thought that he was somebody’s fear toxin nightmare – that he was in the same category as the fucking _Joker_ – made something churn unpleasantly in his stomach.

* * *

The roof was cold.

He didn’t know where he was – the cityscape was familiar, but there was terror skittering through his veins, and the angles were all odd – and he didn’t know what happened – he wasn’t wearing his mask, he couldn’t find his comm, his sleeve was cut off and there was a bandage wrapped around his shoulder – and the roof was definitely cold.

Tim shivered and wondered where he’d lost his cape.

Details came trickling back in – he was in Crime Alley. There had been gunshots, and an explosion of pain in his left shoulder. And then he remembered –

Hood.

Tim shuddered and curled into a tighter ball.

He’d thought – after that night in the Manor, after the wary truce, after Tim woke up to Jason gone but a blanket draped over him – he’d thought they’d come to an understanding. A nonverbal détente.

And then – fear toxin, it had to be, the vivid and painful memory of Jason beating him into the ground –

But it was too _real_ to be just a drug-induced hallucination. Punches meeting flesh, low grunts, green eyes flashing – Tim remembering running, remembered a long hallway that looked nothing like Titans Tower, remembered stairs, and remembered curling up on the roof to wait out the last of the tremors.

A deliberate scuff of footsteps and Tim whirled around, no staff but ready to defend himself against –

Nightwing raised empty hands. “I come in peace,” he said softly.

“Nightwing,” Tim swallowed, and resisted the urge to throw himself into the older boy’s arms and let him reassure Tim that everything was going to be okay.

“Heard you got hit with fear toxin,” Nightwing said gently, easing closer when Tim made no move to run, “How are you feeling?”

Tim took a moment. “Jittery,” he replied, and shivered. Nightwing saved him from asking by wrapping him in a hug. Tim made an inarticulate noise and buried his head in Nightwing’s suit.

“I got Robin,” Nightwing said quietly into his comm, “Seems like the effects have worn off. Have you –” he paused, listening. “Okay where –” Nightwing shifted to take in the roof and his voice raised in incredulity, “But we’re – _downstairs_? Okay, okay, we’re coming.”

“What happened?” Tim asked, disentangling himself from the older boy’s grasp.

“Hood’s the one who found you and called it in,” Nightwing said slowly, “And apparently he’s in the building. We can go to the Batmobile and –”

“No,” Tim stepped back to the rooftop access door – Jason’s face, green eyes alight in a sneer, the vicious satisfaction as he slashed Tim’s throat open – curled up in an armchair and staring at the TV, lost and vulnerable. “I’m coming with you.”

Nightwing made a huff that sounded a lot like _‘stubborn little Robins’_ before leading the way. He entered the apartment first, and stepped fully in front of Tim before he even cleared the door.

“Get out,” Jason said, hoarse and wavering and Tim stood on his tiptoes to peer over Dick’s shoulder. Jason had a gun in one hand, pointed straight at Batman, who was lurking on the far side of apartment – his other arm was curiously limp. He spared a half glance for Dick and Tim, “Great. You found the kid. Now _get out_.”

“What’s going on here?” Nightwing asked mildly, still careful to cover Tim.

“You’re trespassing, that’s what –”

“Jason’s injured,” Batman growled, “Dislocated shoulder, probable concussion, possibly some cracked ribs.”

Jason made an inarticulate noise and raised the gun higher.

Tim stepped to the side, out of Dick’s sheltering shadow, and stared – he remembered twisting into a hold and the sudden release of tension as someone screamed and –

And this was an apartment and Jason was dressed in a loose shirt and sweatpants and he had the beginnings of a black eye and his arm was shaking.

“I attacked you,” Tim swallowed, and three sets of eyes snapped to him. Jason had been unarmored – and if Jason had fought back, Tim knew he’d still be feeling it. “And you – you didn’t try to stop me.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, fury slipping to disgruntlement, “I definitely tried to stop you.”

“But you didn’t fight _back_.”

Nightwing made a soft noise, stepping forward as if he wanted to do a closer examination of Jason’s injuries, and the gun swung to point at him.

Tim took the opportunity to edge forward – green eyes snapped towards him, but the gun didn’t move. “You’re hurt,” Tim said quietly. _I hurt you_.

“Bumps and bruises, Replacement,” Jason sneered, as though they couldn’t all see his dislocated shoulder, “Like you even know how to throw a real punch.”

Tim took another step forward. “I didn’t mean it,” he stuttered, “I didn’t mean to hurt –” _you_ , but that was a lie. He _had_ meant to hurt Jason and Jason’s lips twitched up in an unamused smile, because he knew it too.

“It’s okay,” Jason shrugged the shoulder that was still working, “Not like I didn’t deserve it.”

“No,” Tim narrowed his eyes, “You can’t just – that doesn’t make it _okay_. You can’t just brush it off because you did the same thing –”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jason said, his face shadowed, “I attacked someone who’d done nothing to me, because I was angry at the world. You attacked someone who’s shown they want to hurt you, because you were trying to get away. The two things have nothing in common.”

Tim was now close enough to touch, and he reached out and curled his fingers around the hand that held the gun. “Please,” Tim said, “Let us help.”

This close, Jason’s eyes were very, very green, and Tim held his breath, hoping that Jason wouldn’t lash out.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Jason replied, his tone distinctly sardonic, but he lowered the gun and clicked the safety back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason can't believe how completely and thoroughly his night has gone to hell, and it's all the Replacement's fault. Now Dick thinks he can hug him without getting shot, and Bruce has turned into a hovering mother hen.
> 
> Jason glares at Tim. Tim does not notice.


End file.
